Because I Am
by Elusive Plague
Summary: Ivan has seen many things. He has gone through many traumatizing experiences. Could all of this guarantee a lifetime of mental illness, suicide, or. . .love? ( Ignore the crap summary. I can't do these if my life depended on it ).
1. Chapter 1

_I haven't written in a long time; I'm deeply sorry. Things have been stressful. My writing probably sucks because I haven't practised in a while. _

_I also haven't forgotten about my other story, but I'm trying to work up the motivation to continue with it. I'm pathetic, I know. Throw tomatoes at me. I hate being a freshman. /dies_

* * *

"Mommy?"

"Yes?"

"I saw a dead man on the street."

"Oh? Were you scared?"

Ivan didn't reply. He leaped over a mound of snow and squeezed his sister's hand. "When are we getting out of this place? I don't like it much. There's so much blood."

"I don't know, sweetie. Where is your sister?" Yekaterina stopped and looked back. Ivan blinked his large violet eyes.

"Did you lose her?"

"This is bad. Oh dear. She could be killed. All that gunfire. . ."

"I can go get her!"

Before Yekaterina could stop her younger brother, he had dashed off. Desperately, she called for him, but he did not return.

Ivan's feet ached from running, but he had to find his sister. She was the youngest after all; hadn't he sworn to protect her after big sister passed away? Big men looked down their hooked noses at him, making him feel smaller than he already was. The boy's fingers trembled. He scooped up snow and tossed it over his shoulder.

"Nat! Nat! Where are you?"

His voice became lost in the wind. As he was searching, he became aware of a strange aroma. Oddly attracted to the scent, he ventured in the direction of an old antique shop. People milled about, paying him no mind. Then he saw it. A man—half buried in snow lay near the entrance to the shop.

"Excuse me?" Ivan poked the individual. No movement.

A bizarre smile etched across his face. Then he noticed something else. Blood trickled from a gash in the man's stomach. Gunfire. He could hear his sister calling him in the distance. Without thinking, almost instinctively, he dipped his hands into the wound. Sticky threads of blood clung to his fingers. He tilted his head and stuffed his fist into his mouth.

"What is that kid doing?"

Ivan looked up in time to see a man pushing his startled wife away from the scene. Several people had stopped to watch, but vanished as soon as the boy's eyes passed over them all. The Russian extracted something heavy from the wound. He wasn't sure what it was, but it was moist and bloodied—appealing in the most horrifying way. He chewed it a bit, savoring the sweet and tangy flavor. He rolled the man over, only to have more indescribable objects fall from the gash. Giggling, he stooped to feast some more, but someone grabbed his arm.

"_Ivan!_"

"Mommy!"

"Ivan! I've been looking for you everywhere! Don't go running off without my. . ."

"What's wrong?" Ivan tugged at her now limp hand.

"Were you eating that man?"

"Huh?"

"Were you _eating _that man?" Yekaterina bristled in rage.

"Yes, but I was hungry! I haven't eaten for so long!"

"I never want to catch you eating another human being ever again! Ever!"

With that being said, she snatched Ivan's hand and stormed through the crowd that had gathered. Over her shoulder, Natalya batted her lashes at her older brother.

When the three arrived back at home, Yekaterina made Ivan wash his hands right away.

"Where did you find Nat?" Ivan asked as he departed from the front room.

"Never mind that. Just wash up and go to bed."

"No supper?"

"No supper."

By now, Natalya had clambered onto the table. "Mommy, mommy! I found bread!"

"No, don't!" Yekaterina brushed her hands on her apron and charged for the table. She slapped the mold-encrusted slice from her sister's hand. Who knows where that had been? Probably nibbled by all sorts of creatures. Rats specifically terrified her.

Ivan emerged from the bathroom. Yekaterina sighed and wiped blood from his cheek using the edge of her apron. She licked her finger and scrubbed at the spot until his cheek glowed pink.

"I'll read you two a story and then you can go to sleep, alright?" Yekaterina tucked her siblings into the small bed they all inhabited and picked up a dusty children's book from the corner of the room. They were too poor to afford new books, so Yekaterina often found herself reading the same tale over and over again. Luckily, they were kids and the same story opened up a new plot every time.

"_Lucky Bear and Friends,_" Yekaterina began, turning to the first page.

"Mommy! Nat fell asleep! Shall I hit her so she can listen too?"

"No. Let her sleep. She's tired. You can listen if you want."

"Okay."

Halfway through the story, Yekaterina realized that her brother wasn't listening. His breathing had grown shallow; his eyes glazed as though he had just witnessed a murder.

"Ivan?"

The boy looked up, startled. He shook his head and wrinkled up his nose.

"Ivan! Are you alright? Does your head hurt?"

Yekaterina climbed up on the bed and set him in her lap. "Easy now. It's just a headache."

Ivan's eyes widened and turned an odd shade of scarlet. "Shut up."

"Don't talk to me that way! Since when have you become so ungrateful? In the corner, now!"

"What about the hand?"

"What hand? What are you talking about?"

"The shadowy one in the corner. I don't want him to get me. I see what he does to everyone. He squeezes the breath out of you by closing his fingers around your neck. Then he laps your blood with his fingers. There are tiny holes which allow him to absorb it and. . ."

Yekaterina shook her head. It was almost as though he was dreaming with his eyes open. She cuddled him and stroked his soft hair. It smelled of dirt and blood, but she didn't care. She was here for him. No demons would possess him any longer. But she failed to realize the seriousness of her brother's hallucinations.

He pushed himself away from her, scratching her throat in the process and scrambling to the other side of the bed. A noise vibrated in his head. The sound of a nonexistent television buzzing and that of a thousand people talking at once. Opposing statements. They told him to run away. To stay. To eat poison. To hit his sister.

Tears ran down his cheeks. "Mommy! Mommy! Make them go away! Who are they? Is it you?" He looked up.

"_Yes, you ungrateful brat! It's me! Shut up and drink your blood so I can watch you die the way you would if you drank bleach._"

Her face became distorted in his mind. Something was very wrong. Nothing like this had ever happened before. Nothing so out of place. He covered his ears and whined.

"Ivan!" Yekaterina hugged him tight. She slowly became normal. The tears stopped. Ivan giggled and threw his arms around her neck.

"Oh mommy! You're okay! You told me to drink my own blood, but I was going to anyway. See?" Ivan sunk his teeth into his skin and attempted to rip off a chunk of his flesh.

"Stop that! What is wrong with. . ." Yekaterina sighed. She would have to consult a doctor in the morning. Or a psychiatrist. She wasn't educated enough to tell the difference. But something was better than nothing.

In the morning, Ivan awoke to a funny feeling. The feeling he was being watched. He opened his eyes and saw a woman looking down at him. Horn-rimmed glasses sat upon her nose giving her an almost hawk-like appearance. Ivan backed away from the eerie stranger.

"Relax, sweetie. It's the psychiatrist. She's here to check you out. I brought a doctor as well. Just in case." Yekaterina motioned towards another individual, standing with a clipboard pressed against his chest.

"Can you tell me any of your symptoms from last night? What you saw, felt, heard?" The lady lifted his chin with the tip of her pencil. Ivan felt a growl in his throat erupt into a full-blown bark.

"Stay away from me! I know you're here to hurt me! Mommy?" Ivan looked up at his sister. She hushed him and told him to keep still for the psychiatrist.

"Well," Ivan folded his arms across his chest. "I heard things. Voices, I think. Mostly men and women with deep voices telling me to do weird things. Horrible things like stab. . .people."

The psychiatrist looked alarmed. Her face had grown ashen as though she had just discovered he had returned from the dead.

She stood up and whispered something to the doctor. Then she placed a hand on Yekaterina's shoulder and told her something. The look on his sister's face made him want to cry.

"Mommy! What's wrong? And what's Schizo whats-it-called?"

"Schizophrenia, my dear child," the doctor corrected. For the first time, Ivan noticed how menacing he looked. His hair was dark, his eyes a deep brown. His build was quite scary too. Suddenly, everyone seemed evil. Ivan whimpered.

"What's that?"

"A mental disorder. It appears you also suffer from Bipolar disorder, Pyromania, and. . .Antisocial Personality disorder."

Ivan frowned. "What's so bad about that?"

The doctor conversed with Yekaterina. "Does he really enjoy setting things on fire?"

"Yes. Ever since he burned down the school building, I haven't the nerve to send him anywhere else."

"Jesus." The doctor looked sick.

After the two had left, Yekaterina stooped down to talk to her brother. "I want you to get your motives straight. No eating humans, no threatening your sister, no setting things on fire. . ."

"I don't do any of those things!" Ivan protested, his tiny fists curling into small balls of fury.

"Look, I don't want to ever have this conversation with you again. You know better."

"Mommy. . ."

"I'm _not_ your mommy. I'm your sister. It's time you wrapped your head around that concept. Get used to it. "Mommy" won't be there to reprimand you when you're in jail for some horrible crime."

The boy's face blanched. Never before had his sister spoken to him like that. Was she sick? Had a monster run off with her mind somewhere, somehow? All of it seemed irrational, but fear made him think in a funny way. He touched her knee.

Her face twisted. "Ivan, darling."

She scooped him up. Ivan clung to her, his nails unintentionally digging into her shoulders. He wanted to tell her that he was sorry, that he couldn't understand what was going on, but words didn't seem appropriate at the time. For now, all he wanted was to melt in her arms and forget the doctors and the war and the world.

"Let's go for a walk, Ivan. Shall we?"

* * *

_'Till then!_

_Don't judge my fascination with cannibalism please. Good lord, this sucks. xD_


	2. Chapter 2

_The next chapter is here! Sorry, this one is a bit short._

_Going shopping tomorrow! ( none of you care, but I'm so happy! Maybe I'll find a Hetalia bracelet or something )!_

* * *

Yekaterina groped for her brother's hand. "Ivan, don't go wandering off. It's dangerous."

"I'm sorry."

"It's alright."

But was he really sorry? Sometimes danger seemed thrilling. Sometimes war excited him – brought him a sense of authority. He had none, that he knew. Was it wrong to feel this way? He felt almost glorious when he stood over dead bodies, even though he hadn't killed them. Yekaterina gave him a quizzical look.

"Are you okay?"

"_Da_."

"Oh, sweetheart. I know it's tough. I know what you're thinking. We'll get out of this mess soon enough. We'll find our happy place. Surrounded by fields of flowers basked in sunshine."

The thought lit his heart. "Will we all be there? In that happy place?"

"Yes."

A man stumbled towards them. As he neared, he shoved the young Ukranian, who dropped her sack of potatoes.

"Watch where you're going bitch!"

Yekaterina picked up the fallen food. Ivan helped her, his expression placid while a storm brewed within him. Who was he to push his sister? And the word he used – it seemed to have a negative effect. He looked up at her face; tears slid down her cheeks.

"There's the park. You can go play if you want."

"Who was that man?"

"A stranger. I don't know."

Ivan brushed a snowflake from her hair. "Take care."

No more words were exchanged. The boy hurried for the swings, his scarf flapping behind him. When he got to the swings, however, someone had already occupied it. A man stood behind the swing thief, pushing the boy back and forth. The boy was small, younger than him even. The adult took care to place him in the enclosed swing where nothing but the child's legs and arms dangled out.

Ivan hovered by the pole, waiting his turn.

"Oh! Hello!"

Ivan realized the man was addressing him. "_Privyet_."

"Excuse me?"

"It means 'hello' in Russian. I'm sorry, are you not from around here?"

"No. I'm on official business here. I'm. . ." he hesitated, deciding not to disclose any political matters with a child.

The boy in the swing contorted his face. "Faster! Faster!"

Ivan noted the odd curl that jutted out from the kid's hair. Both were dark-haired and had an accent. The boy kicked his legs and raised his arms high. "Get me out!"

In a few seconds, he was removed from the swing and set on the ground. The parent or brother – Ivan couldn't tell what he was, flipped his ponytail. Amber eyes latched onto the youngster for a moment before he smiled. "Are you all alone?"

"No. My mommy's over there."

Yekaterina stood watching them from a nearby Oak. She beckoned him over.

"I'll see 'ya!"

Just as Ivan was departing, something slipped around his neck and went fluttering off. His scarf! Filled with sudden dread, he whipped around to see the foreign boy with his item. His heart turned to lead and dropped into his stomach. "Give that back!"

The adult had his back turned. He was conversing with another stranger.

"Meep!"

Ivan recoiled at the other's fleshy tongue. How dare he taunt him! Before he knew it, the boy was sprawled on the ground screaming and his hands were tainted in fresh blood. It dripped into the snow, turning it black. Yekaterina grabbed his arm and steered him away. Ivan found himself pressed against the alley wall, his sister's hand pressed against his mouth.

"What did I tell you about. . .about fighting? You. . .don't know who anyone is anymore. You don't know who that man is."

She was struggling for breath. Ivan noticed she had forgotten the potatoes.

"Lunch, _mommy_."

"No, you listen to me Ivan. You listen real close."

"_Lunch_," Ivan whined.

She ignored him as he attempted to pry her hands off. "Ivan!"

"The potatoes! Lunch, _mommy_, you forgot!"

Her fist swung and collided into his cheek. Ivan was stunned. Violet eyes widened as he pushed himself away from her. What was this beast?

"Ivan. . ."

What did it want with him?

"_You ugly, useless, worthless child! I know what I did. You deserved it. That and the fact you won't be eating tonight_."

Her face had become misshapen again, the way it usually did when she spoke like this. Ivan began to wail. Yekaterina's eyes widened.

"Shh, shh. I'm sorry."

Suddenly, she grabbed him and squeezed him against herself, rocking back and forth in an attempt to console him. Footsteps neared. Came closer. Crunched gravel. Disappeared.

"Mommy?"

Yekaterina looked down at him and felt guilt stab her in the chest. A welt had formed on his cheek, growing more purple by the minute. "What have I done?" she whispered, too traumatized to even recognize his usual friendliness emerge again. How forgetful his mind was sometimes. Either that or he was exceptionally forgiving. He clambered onto her lap and giggled.

"You're normal!"

What did he mean by that? Yekaterina dropped the thought and cradled him in her arms as she journeyed home.

Ivan's thumb was slippery wet when they arrived home; he realized he had been sucking on it. Inside, the temperature remained several degrees below comfort level. Natalya lunged at her sister, crushing her leg like a vice as she hollered indecipherable words at her brother.

"Easy now," Yekaterina gently nudged her younger sibling away.

"Where's the food?" Natalya chewed on a rusty spoon.

"Oh dear!"

"You forgot?" Natalya screeched, although she remained planted to her seat. Deep down, she must have understood.

The three had no dinner that night. As Yekaterina tucked them into bed the second day without dinner, she felt the guilt pull at her heartstrings. It was all her fault her siblings were starving. Reality slapped her hard in the face for the thousandth time that day. She was beginning to doubt her own strengths. How much would she endure before the dam broke? She served as a role model to her brother and sister. If they saw her weak, pessimism would follow forth.

"I'm hungry."

Yekaterina jumped out of her thoughts. "Oh, Ivan. I'm so sorry about today. I really am."

"It's okay."

They both sat quietly, listening to the sound of Ivan's ravenous stomach.

"Mommy?"

"Yes?"

"I don't feel so good. I think. . .it's because of the person I snacked on. Could that be it?"

"No," Yekaterina pushed back his bangs and pressed a hand to his forehead. "Well, I don't know. I think you're just hungry. We'll try again tomorrow."

"Okay."

He snuggled into her arms as she embraced him and his sister. His stomach may be empty, but at least with his family locked into a tight hug, he wasn't cold. At least warmth spread to the tips of his fingers. Maybe he would even play tomorrow. The idea seemed wonderful. The swings, park, make new friends. Then, Ivan remembered something important.

"Sister?"

"Yes?" Yekaterina mumbled, her eyes still closed.

"I forgot my scarf at the park."

* * *

_I know this is quite repetitive so far, but it will pick up later to present time. More bloodshed, blah blah. America comes in soon! :3  
_


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